Summary: AU. During Mike Schmidt's tenure, strange and terrifying things lead to the discovery of a hidden room, and a strange, empty animatronic suit that holds more than a few dark secrets to the past...

Genre: Five Nights at Freddy's, so...horror.

Rated: PG-13/T overall for violence, death, violent death, swearing, and in Chapter 3, one mild slur and very brief sexual talk.

Disclaimer: I own no one in this fic save for my OCs. I gave the FNaF animatronics/characters their personalities, some of which are based a little on accepted fanon/headcanon. I know gender tends to start fights in this fandom, so for the sake of this ALTERNATE UNIVERSE story, the Chicas are female, Mangle is whatever, as I somehow managed to mention him/her/it/them without using any pronouns, the Puppet is genderless, and everyone else is male unless otherwise stated. The ghosts haunting them may or may not match bot gender. Deal.

I will reiterate that this is an ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. While several canon events and characters remain present, some of them have been moved around, omitted, or changed. My goal is simply to tell an interesting story.

I started this story in March of 2015. It's literally the length of about four novels, so you can imagine the work put into it to produce a finished, polished product all at once solely so no one has to wait for updates. As a quick refresh, FNaF4 would be released in July 2015, four months after I started. To state the obvious, A LOT OF NEW MATERIAL has come out since then, and as such, some fun coincidences came up. I have a character named Charlotte (Mike's mother here, and I refuse to change it because I had it before The Silver Eyes), missing siblings, one or two things about the franchise's past, and as of Pizzeria Simulator, a LOT of "GDI, out of my head, Scott!" regarding a certain animatronic, albeit done a bit differently.

Any similarities in materials beyond FNaF4 should be taken as coincidence. This story focuses primarily on the first game with an altered timeline, with references to 2 - 4 as needed, and what little of Sister Location and Pizzeria Simulator I could utilize without them being obviously shoehorned in.

Five Nights at Freddy's belongs to Scott Cawthon.

Background: Strangely enough, this was inspired by a ship fic that had a good concept at its heart, but was often shoved to the back in favor of romance. All I did was cut out the romance and focus on the untapped horror potential. It was also originally supposed to be a lot shorter than it ended up being (like 20k words tops), but as I wrote, I kept finding lots of fun directions to go in, once-minor characters gaining life, and subplots getting more complex than I intended. In the end, I wound up with this beautiful, gigantic monster.

Also, when I started writing this, I was dealing with a death in the family. While I went back and re-wrote a lot of scenes due to it, I will not deny this had some influence on the plot. Then again, seeing as death is a strong theme in this series? It's almost fitting.

Rest in peace, Ryan. In a weird way, this story is dedicated to you.

A whole-hearted thanks to all my betas whose input helped to immensely shape the final product.

HELP WANTED - Freddy Fazbear's Pizza

Family pizzeria looking for security guard to work the night shift 12am - 6am.

Monitor cameras, ensure the safety of equipment and animatronic characters.

Not responsible for injury/dismemberment.

$120 a week. To apply call: 1-888-FAZ-BEAR.

Saturday, November 6, 1993

Mike Schmidt kicked back on his sofa, a cigarette between his lips, the day's paper spread before him. He took a drag as he glared at the black-and-white picture accompanying the current ad. Freddy Fazbear held up a hand in a wave, his large mouth open mid-song, a spotlight adding a bit of shine to his eyes, bowtie, tophat, and microphone. Mike's spine went painfully rigid, and his right arm throbbed a little.

Years ago, he and several other children clamored for the games and pizza the place offered, and more than that, the animatronic characters. Several memories flashed through his mind, of joy and laughter, of sorrow...of pain. His right arm ached again. Even before he outgrew the place, things...happened there, and kept happening. He long since put that place behind him.

Mike grimaced at the ad's timely appearance. It appeared right after he was let go from a droll office job. He didn't need this job, he told himself. He had enough money saved to look for other prospects for a few more months if he needed to. There was nothing at that old place for him.

His arm ached again, as if catching him in a lie.

Mike took another deep drag from his cigarette, exhaled slowly, and tossed the wanted section onto his beat up coffee table. He then flipped to the comic pages instead, hoping that the day's Calvin and Hobbes might get that wretched place off his mind.

But the smiling bear nagged at him. More than that, Mike's mind went the last few of his boxes that remained packed since he first moved in a few years ago, still shoved in the back of his bedroom closet to remain properly buried.

Of their contents, and the mystery that came with them.

He lowered the comics and looked back over to the wanted ad. Fate had a way of fucking with him, it seemed. In a week, it would mark six years since it happened.

The cigarette stub found itself burning into Freddy's face, the newspaper curling away until only an ash-tinged hole engulfed the bear's head. A strong feeling coursed through his system as Mike watched the blackened embers cool. A warning, he knew, but also...something else lying just underneath.

Like a calm, whispering voice that reached even the faintest of his senses.

Mike knew better than to ignore it. He thought of the boxes again, of the answers he craved.

That alone prompted him to pick up the phone.

At twenty minutes to midnight, Mike stood outside of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. He tightly gripped a blue, coffee-filled thermos in his hand as a sense of dread washed over him. The uniform discomforted him, beyond the tight cuffs and starched, scratchy purple cloth, the weight of the security badge at his chest, and the tie that hung like a noose from his neck.

Fitting when he felt like a dead man walking.

Having lived in this town all of his life, Mike knew all the rumors, the stories, the local legends: the missing children. The mysterious incidents and malfunctions that forced Fazbear Entertainment to keep shutting down and re-opening. The tales of people who set foot inside and never came out.

He knew better. Long ago, he promised himself he'd never set foot here ever again. Even now, he knew he was insane for coming back. Not after…

Flashes of red over the tile floors.

Screaming and sobbing as people in uniforms tried to sort things out.

Red and blue flashing lights.

A gleam at someone's wrist.

Pain that only worsened with time.

Mike shuddered as he shoved the thoughts back. He tried not to think of the faces, the fear, the blood. Tried not to think about how fate compelled him to come back after all these years.

But he needed answers, and here was as good as any place to start.

Mike focused on the task on hand. The manager eagerly accepted his application on the spot earlier this afternoon. He had been in and out, with hardly a moment to look around before he was given the purple uniform shirt and shoved out the door.

Be here about fifteen minutes early, the man told him. Do a building sweep and check for stragglers, then be in the office by midnight.

And once there, don't leave.

Mike disliked the ominousness of that command, how pertinent it seemed to be in the office before midnight and stay there. The rumors once more entered his mind, the painful memories of before.

Of blood and purple and gold, of eyes that stared ahead and never saw anything again.

It happened years ago, he reminded himself. Things changed, and the rumors were just that: rumors. Yet he wondered...did something terrible happen at night? Was there something he should fear?

Or was he just being paranoid? Letting rumors and incidents cloud his judgement, the past distort the present?

Maybe the manager just didn't want things to be messed with.

Or maybe...

The white building stood before him, a shell of its former self. Everything above the doors was painted in a purple stripe that circled the building, fading silver stars dotting it as the old sign bearing Freddy's smiling face flickered with its last dregs of life. A small sign by the door gave a warning that recording devices were in use. Through the tinted front windows - that needed a good washing, he noted - Mike saw an old janitor finishing up the rest of the night's work, his strong, dark hands guiding a mop.

Well, great. Company for a few minutes, at least.

He took a look into the window, and almost jumped at the sight of the purple uniform reflecting back, the security hat that nearly hid his eyes in shadow, the golden Freddy badge glimmering back at him. Mike swallowed hard. He reached up to push a strand of black hair out of his face.

For a moment, he almost didn't look like himself. That in that brief moment…

Someone else stared back.

Damn it, he thought. Not even inside yet, and I'm already freaking myself out.

He glanced at the glass, at his blue eyes glowering back at him. Stupid, they seemed to say. Stupid for being here. Stupid for not turning around and running. Stupid for blatantly ignoring every alarm in his head screaming at him to hold to his promise to himself to never come back here.

He made a quick adjustment of his shirt collar and tucked a missed section of his purple uniform shirt into his dark slacks. Fine, judgemental reflection. At least we'll look our best.

Bracing himself, Mike grabbed the brass handle to the front door and pulled it open.

A cutesy jingle announced his arrival overhead, alerting his presence to the man with the mop. Mike's shoes clacked against the hard checkered floor as he made his way to the only other person here. The janitor looked up only for a second to acknowledge the newcomer. Mike noted his aging face, his black, leathery skin, the trimmed salt-and-pepper hair and beard under his blue brimmed hat, the weary lines under his brown eyes.

"So you're the new kid, eh?" the janitor asked.

The man stood over a head taller than Mike, his shoulders nearly as broad as his gut. He went back to scrubbing at a particularly sticky soda spill, his slouched posture bringing him nearly down to Mike's level. Mike grimaced a bit. At twenty-five and standing at 5'3", he still looked young, but not that young.

"Mike Schmidt," he said with a frown, "and I'm not a kid."

"Well, best of luck to you anyway," the old man said, wearily, not bothering to introduce himself.

The lights flickered a little. Mike glanced up, watching as the lights settled before he turned back to the old janitor in time to catch his frown.

"Darn this wiring," the old man muttered as he went back to mopping. "Just replaced it a few years ago, and still won't work right. Must be somethin' about this old place."

He cleared the stain, then rinsed the mop off in the bucket before turning back to Mike.

"But you probably won't deal with it long," he continued. "Y'ask me, you'll be gone before the week's out."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mike asked.

The janitor shrugged, and went to empty the mop bucket.

"Later, kid."

"Mike," he corrected, then sighed.

Why bother? The old man already determined he wouldn't last, which made Mike question what was so hard about watching some cameras and making sure nothing got in the building.

...Or out.

Damn the rumors.

Keep it together, Schmidt, he thought to himself. Don't let your mind screw you over. Again.

Ignoring the janitor, Mike finally got to properly look around the place, now that he wasn't dealing with a hasty-to-hire, belligerent manager. He checked his watch: a quarter til midnight. Mike then looked up and glanced around the room.

The building really showed its age, with some chips in the walls hidden by the children's sketches, and while the checkered floor sparkled, Mike easily picked out scratches that came over time from moved furniture and children's shoes. The first time he came, there had been booths and several smaller tables to accommodate smaller families; now longer party tables replaced them. Many of the old game cabinets were still here, with paint chipping off and buttons worn down from where many little fingers pressed and slammed until they barely worked anymore.

Mike then noted the curtains on both stages. They still looked almost new, with their purple color and silver stars. He walked to the back toward Pirate Cove. His heart sank a little when he saw the small sign beside it.

-Sorry!- Out of Order.

"And it'll probably stay that way until this place finally shuts down," Mike said, setting his thermos down on one of the tables.

He opened the front of the curtains, vaguely remembering the character behind it. Mike glanced up, recalling the the animatronics stood at least as tall as the door frames. His eyes widened as they adjusted to the figure behind the curtain.

Upon first glance, the hanging, broken jaw and gaping hole in the animatronic's chest would have caught most people's attention first. For Mike, the first thing that caught his eye was how different the fox looked compared to his memory. Yellow eyes stared ahead, one covered with a dark eyepatch, the long shout lined with pointed teeth. His red ears stood propped up on metal joints. Something about his face, his jaws, looked more...innocent than before. Less intimidating. Less sharp.

That was it, Mike decided. The face was rounder, less angled than before.

Only after that did he take in the thing's state of disrepair, the exposed metal legs and feet, the frayed holes in the suit. The fox's non-hook hand was exposed, no longer wearing a soft red glove to cover the metal fingers underneath.

"Looks like you've seen better days," Mike said. "Foxy, wasn't it?"

The damn thing scared him as a kid, and even now, the thing's teeth still set him on edge. Still, he gave it a soft smile.

"I used to like your stories. Never could sit up front, though."

He let go of the curtain to hide the decrepit fox from sight again, then headed to the right to check the main stage. Mike vaguely remembered parts and pieces of Foxy's stories as he walked. When he better managed his fear of the fox as a child, the stories usually assuaged him enough to at least sit in the back and listen, despite the creepy thing telling them.

He pushed the memories back as he reached the main stage, utilizing the three large, sturdy steps in front of it to reach it. Behind the main curtain, Mike allowed himself a small smile when he got his first glimpse at his childhood heroes: Bonnie the Bunny, Freddy Fazbear and Chica the Chicken all stood in perfect order. They stared out into the empty dining room while waiting to power on. Over the years, they went through some changes as well; he clearly remembered they all had bigger jaws and eyes when he was younger.

Bonnie's once-bright fur faded into a dull purple. His chest, snout and inner ears all barely clung to a light lavender color. Like Foxy, he and Freddy both had their ears propped up on joints, with Bonnie's given another bisect to both allow him more range of emotion as well as more stability with their length. He held his red guitar, the color perfectly matching his eyes and bowtie.

Freddy stood tall as usual in his black top hat and bowtie, his brown plush having better held its color over the years. He held his microphone under his chin, his blue eyes warm and friendly, his large jaw opened in a smile. The face of the franchise, the giant teddy bear was ready to sing and dance for the kids.

Mike disliked the open, gaping maw. His right arm ached as he quickly moved to the last one.

Chica in particular looked different compared to his memory, with a less pointed beak and a much rounder head than the others, giving her the appearance of an overgrown duckling more than a chicken. Her once bright yellow color dulled with dust and dirt, though management kept her white bib with its purple and yellow, "LET'S EAT!" catchphrase clean. Same with her orange beak, which gleamed a bit with polish in front of her purple eyes. In her left hand, she held a pink cupcake on a platter. The cupcake had weird, goofy blue eyes and two little teeth poking from under its frosting.

All of them had metal joints glistening between costume pieces.

"Guess they tried to make you all less creepy," Mike said.

Not that it worked that much. Mike looked them over, at Bonnie's fading purple fur and red guitar that had seen better days, at Freddy missing small patches of plush, particularly where little children once hugged his legs and waist, at Chica, whose dingy yellow color spoke more than anything else of the age of this place. This close to them, he caught a strange smell coming from their animatronic suits. Something sickening, old and fading, but enough to make his stomach turn.

When was the last time they were cleaned? he wondered.

Mike briefly remembered when he was younger, how being near them and getting a hug from one of them made his day. Everything seemed so magical back then, how his eyes lit up when they came to life onstage, how he still remembered some of the goofy songs, how just being here felt like he walked into a wonderland, once upon a time.

Now he wondered how he ever got close to those things without feeling unnerved and creeped out.

The magic was gone. The life had long since faded. There were no cheerful singing friends anymore, only old, deteriorating animatronics slowly dying and withering away into this tomb of a restaurant. It almost broke his heart, seeing them like this now.

Mike ran his eyes over the three of them again, starting with Bonnie and Freddy. A slight smile crept over his lips.

"You two always made me laugh," he said. "And Bonnie, you helped me come out of my shell."

He then turned to Chica.

"And you were always my favorite."

None of them moved. They only stared ahead into the empty room. Mike let go of the curtain and left the stage to finish his checks, not that he expected to find anyone here. To the right of the stage, a small hallway lead to a dead end, save for the bathrooms along the right wall. Children's drawings plastered the wall at the end.

Wasn't there more there before? Mike thought.

He didn't think too hard on it as he moved to check the bathrooms. Upon finding nothing, he made his way back into the dining room, circling around the main stage again to reach the other side. He stopped at the end of the stage and glanced ahead. A row of several video game cabinets lined the wall beside Pirate Cove, ending just beyond the reach of the main stage's steps. Mike approached the last video game cabinet, a two-player fighter-style game that he noted looked newer than the others. His chest panged a little. He ignored it as he turned to look in the back corner, in the open area just beside the stage. An open door welcomed him. As Mike approached it, he glimpsed the, "Employees Only" sign.

Blurs of red, yellow, brown, and purple.

A soft, accented voice in his ear.

The smell of cigarettes mingled with cologne.

Two glowing eyes in the dark.

Mike swallowed hard as he stepped towards it. He felt to the side for the light switch, taking a deep breath as he flipped it on.

Several eyes and empty sockets stared back at him. Mike's heart jumped for a second, easing only when he registered the spare animatronics heads on the shelves around the room: some empty and hollow, and some still retaining their plastic eyes.

"Cheerful place," Mike muttered, shoving his prior discomfort aside.

In the middle of the room stood a wooden table, a spare endoskeleton sitting on the far end of it. The old machine held a dull silver shine. A lot of it looked human at first, with metal rods for bones serving as its arms and legs held together by metal joints. More of a frame was built around them, with ovular pieces that looked like thin cages around the limbs, obviously to help any animatronic costume placed on it to keep its shape. Its rib cage consisted of a series of flat pieces protruding out from the spine, tapering down from under the thing's elbows. Like its arms and legs, a sort of cage surround them to provide costume support. It had a squarish head, and a loose-hanging jaw. Wires protruded from key areas, which Mike suspected were to connect to the costume and keep it in place. Even looking at it from behind, he saw the large eye sockets jutting out from the skull. It had no ears protruding from it, allowing it to remain more human-looking than animal.

Against the far wall, he glimpsed boxes of what he presumed to be tools and spare animatronic parts. In the far right corner, he saw an exit door, and beside it, a rack of spare animatronic costumes, shoved against the shelf holding many of the spare masks - and, as Mike looked closer, extra gloves and feet. He turned to the other far corner, where he spotted a camera. He noticed a large space between the camera and the shelf, the space under the camera easily big enough to fit a card table. A fusebox was nestled in part of the empty space.

Mike carefully entered the room. He took a brisk walk around the table before stopping at the back shelf. Looking to the left, he noticed the camera disappeared behind it.

A blind spot?

His attention went back to the shelves, and the boxes of parts before him. Mike ran a hand over them, recalling why he came here to begin with. His heart picked up its pace as he pulled a box forward and gently rummaged through its contents, ignoring the dust and other signs of neglect.

It's as good of a place to start as any.

What was he even looking for? And what did he expect to find, when the worst of it didn't even happen here?

He pushed those doubts back as he looked through the box. Nothing but bolts, wires, and pieces he had no name for. Mike frowned as he shoved the box back into place, already regretting this.

I have to try.

As he reached for another box, a sudden noise caught him off-guard. Mike turned around as he looked for the source, finding himself directly staring at the endoskeleton sitting on the table. His heart jolted as he stepped back, his eyes locked locked with the thing's brown ones. They stared right at him, softened only by the metal eyelids pulled partially down over them. Mike swallowed hard as a glint of memory flashed in his mind, lost the second it came.

He knew those eyes.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, Mike's chest panged with pain. The air around him suddenly grew thick and unbearable, leaving him hazy and disoriented. He tried to take a breath, but found his lungs stifled for a moment. Every muscle froze.

Then, just as quickly as it came, the air cleared. Mike let out a small breath, then shook his head. When the haze dissipated, he found himself still staring at the endoskeleton. He took another breath just to calm himself. Probably just dust from the shelves catching up to him. Mike forced up a small cough to ensure he cleared his lungs, before he recalled the sound he heard before. After pondering a moment, he recognized it as the cutesy door jingle. It took another moment to realize the janitor left the building, leaving him all by himself in the restaurant. His eyes caught the endoskeleton and masks behind it at the other end of the room, all of them staring ahead.

At him.

Like they watched his every move.

Mike glanced around the room, suddenly not liking that prospect. He quickly made his way out of the realm of disembodied limbs and staring eyes.

Upon leaving the backstage room, Mike grabbed his thermos from the table where he left it, then briskly strolled past the long line of video game cabinets, Pirate Cove, and then more video games, with three long party tables flanking his left side. A long hallway stretched before him, and to the left, one more thing of interest: a prize counter along the back wall.

The glass desk showcased prizes not even worth digging for at the bottom of a cereal box. Mike approached it, noticing the better prizes on the shelves behind the glass case, most of them plush toys of the franchise's characters. These, he disregarded in favor of a large blue-green present box with a purple ribbon snaking around it. It sat beside the prize counter and marked the crossroads between that and the hallway.

Mike set his thermos on the glass counter, then reached for the top of the box. Thin, nearly invisible wires barely cut through the split in the top, going all the way up to the ceiling. Using the wires as a guide, he ran his fingers along the ribbon leading to the front of the box, where he knew the flaps opened on either side. Carefully, he slipped his fingers underneath and pulled them open. At first, he was met with what he presumed to be emptiness, before he noticed the large black X neatly fitted in all four corners of the box, with glimmers of white underneath.

Carefully, Mike lifted the wooden X, the prop smoothly gliding up the clear wires toward the ceiling. He then reached down to gently pull up what lied underneath:

Long black strings, snaking down underneath the X.

They were attached to the wrists and head of a long and slender puppet with a black body.

Three large white buttons went down its thin, round chest, its forearms adorned with white stripes. Only three long fingers sprouted from each of its skeletal hands. Mike carefully lifted its ghostly face, looking into its empty black eyes and wide open smile. He glanced over the purple lines down its mask, the faint red lips, the red circles on its cheeks. It had striped stumps for feet, and if it stood tall, it might just reach the other animatronics' eyes.

The top of the box opened. The cross rose above on the clear wires, pulling the Puppet up with it. It clutched a wrapped gift in its hands, and offered it to him.

"...I remember you," Mike whispered.

Strange how this thing's eerie, spindly design never bothered him when he was younger. Like the band onstage, Mike experienced a sense of disillusionment with the Puppet, that a filter over his eyes lifted with age. He recalled the delight of several birthday parties spent here, the eager anticipation of waiting for the box to open for the birthday child to receive their gift. Even if for a brief moment, Mike smiled, letting the warm memories encompass him. He briefly tasted the moment of being that child, to cheer for a friend getting their special present from Freddy and his friends.

The memories faded as he looked the Puppet over again. A strange chill ran through him as its eyes met his own. For a split second, white pinpricks appeared to light up in the back of the Puppet's sockets. A calm, quiet voice filled his mind:

I remember you too.

The thing's eyes became black and hollow again. Mike gasped and let go of the Puppet. It fell over the side and hung like a rag doll over the edge of its box. The large wooden X swayed above him, tugging at the strings and briefly lifting the Puppet's head and hands as Mike stepped away from it. His blood suddenly pounded in his ears, the remnants of the voice fading out of his mind.

Mike stayed back, keeping his eyes on the macabre marionette.

It...remembered?

He waited for his heart rate to normalize as he stared at the Puppet, treating it like a viper about to strike. The Puppet stilled after a moment, silent on its strings as it hung over the box.

"...The hell?" Mike whispered.

When he heard nothing, Mike hesitantly approached it again. He carefully lifted its face and stared into the mask, the empty eyes. Faintly, he saw the round edges of LED lights situated in the back of the sockets, and barely managed to pick out a blue tint in the glass.

Not white, like he saw a moment ago.

Mike blinked and looked it over again. He only saw his own shadow over the Puppet, and residual glints of dining room lights reflecting off the thing's weird mask. He watched it another moment to be sure, and when nothing happened, Mike carefully tucked the creepy thing back into its box and gently lowered its wooden X over it. He ensured the rigging was properly in place before he pulled the lid flaps back into place.

For a moment, he held the box shut, shuddering as his heart finally found its proper beat again. This place went from cheerful to downright creepy at night, and its current state conflicting with his childhood memories and old pain only made it worse. Whatever just happened...maybe his mind simply played tricks on him. Distorted the shadows, made him think he heard it speak, that he simply imagined those creepy lights in its eye sockets.

He hoped.

The lights suddenly went out. Mike quickly glanced around.

The emergency lights let him see the rows of tables behind him, glints of the silver stars hanging above him and off the curtains. The hall leading into the bathrooms darkened, and he no longer saw the door to the back room.

Mike ran a final glance over the prize counter, then slowly pushed himself away from the box. He grabbed his thermos and took a last look around the dining room, at the tables with their party hats, at the crayon drawings on the walls, at the stage curtains with their silver stars faintly glimmering in the dim lights. With everything in its place, Mike headed back to the security office, going to the other end of the prize counter and down the other hall. He noted a small door marked as the manager's office, and two double doors with round windows that lead into the kitchen. An emergency light flickered above him as he walked down the hall.

The only light left came from his office, serving as a beacon to lead him inside.

Mike briefly glimpsed at his watch.

The green digits read 12:00am.